Failed Convictions
by sonea91
Summary: He was not a hero, not even a tragic one. He was just a man who had been failed by his own convictions.


He was not a hero, not even a tragic one. He was just a man who had been failed by his own convictions.

*****************FAILED CONVICTIONS*****************

It started when he was only six years old. He still recalled it vividly, the first time he read HIS name in the Daily Prophet. A pureblood supremacist, they called him. Someone who stood up for what he believed in, Regulus thought.

There it was in bold writing. Every pureblood was special.

'Special'. The word rolled easily off his tongue. 'Special.' It felt good, too. Special. He was special.

***************SPECIAL***************

It was two weeks later when he first got to use the word.

"Watch it, Reggie", his older brother called out as he bumped into him. For once, Regulus did not just duck out of the way, but mustered up his courage. He puffed up slightly, his back rigidly straight.

"But you're the one who bumped into me", he told his brother, his voice quiet but strong. Sirius simply snorted in reply, not even bothering to comment as he continued to climb up the stairs.

"You can't treat me like this", Regulus called after him. "I'm special, too."

Sirius stopped on the stairs, looking back at his brother somewhat incredulously.

"Where did you get that nonsense from", he asked. He looked contemplative for a second, before he went on. "Well, you're my brother, so I guess that'd make you 'special' by association."

With that, he turned back around, whistling happily and was gone before Regulus had the chance to think of an adequate reply, leaving the younger Black both furious and helpless. He'd never been a match to his brother's wit, and it made him feel small and insignificant.

At home, it was always about Sirius. Sirius, the more handsome one. Sirius, the more talented one. Sirius, who had stolen his father's broom when he was only five years old.

It was true that Sirius argued with their parents a lot, which oftentimes involved much screaming and shouting. But at least they shouted at him. No one ever bothered to even take notice of Regulus.

He clutched the newspaper article he had been carrying around with him for the past two weeks in his hand. Voldemort had the right idea – he was just as special as his older brother. And one day, he would prove it to them all.

***************SO SPECIAL***************

He started collecting the articles from then on, circling and underlining the statements that he liked best. Voldemort's name had quickly been replaced by 'he-who-must-not-be-named' – and Regulus admired the Dark Lord for the fear he was commanding.

Power, that's what the Dark Lord had, and he was not afraid of standing up for his convictions and fighting for what should rightfully be.

The Dark Lord had quickly become Regulus' role model, he strived to be like him, hoped to ever be worthy of the former's consideration.

Regulus had a defined target he was working towards. He wanted to become one of the Dark Lord's most trusted followers. He would help him achieve his aims.

The pictures in the articles frightened him in the beginning, images of heads that had been chopped off, corpses of people with an empty look on their faces and body parts that could not even be recognized as such.

But his belief in Voldemort's ideology never wavered. After all, the Dark Lord was just doing what was necessary. The end justifies the means.

***************DIFFERENT***************

Things started to change for him when his brother went off to Hogwarts. He had been gone for less than five hours when he heard shouting downstairs.

"He has been sorted into Gryffindor." His mother screeched, the last words spat out in that derogatory tone she only used for things that very particularly abhorrent.

He heard his father replying, but didn't take in any more of the conversation. And while the shouting downstairs increased in volume, Regulus found himself sliding down next to the bannister, a smile on his face.

His brother in Gryffindor. This was it, his chance to prove to his parents that he was different from his brother.

***************SO DIFFERENT***************

His first day at Hogwarts Regulus was incredibly nervous. While his new classmates were awed by their first sight of the castle that would become their new home, he was anxiously awaiting their sorting. Time was passing far too slowly, and yet it was too soon when the sorting arrived.

As luck would have it, he was the first in the alphabet that year and consequently, he was to go up first.

He steeled himself, not allowing himself to tremble as he sat down on the chair. He caught his brother's eye just before Professor McGonagall put the old hat on his head. For once, his brother's face was unreadable.

It was anticlimactic, really. His sorting lasted less than ten seconds.

"I can see that you have already firmly made up your mind", he heard the hat say, before a shout of "Slytherin" filled the hall.

There were cheers from the Slytherin table, but it was his brother's face he sought out first. The two brothers stared at one another for a few seconds, both unblinking, before the older one turned away, a look of disappointment on his face.

Regulus felt a smile of contentment spreading on his face. He had done it. He had proven to the world that he was different from his brother. That he was better.

***************BETTER***************

At age 16, Regulus was certain of some things. He had realized a long time ago, that all purebloods were special by default, it was their birth right. They were supposed to rule the world, a world that had no place for those unworthy mudbloods.

He also knew that getting that tattoo on his forearm had been both the wisest decision and the proudest moment in his life.

Regulus was smart, too, and he knew it. He was also lucky enough to be born to an influential family. Those two factors combined were the reason why he was quick in his ascension to Voldemort's inner circles, even at such a young age.

***************BLOOD***************

Less than a year passed, before he was granted the right to wear a mask at the gatherings. His first raid followed soon after, just a week after he had graduated from Hogwarts.

It was an attack on a muggle gathering. There was no real purpose behind it, other than to get some experience.

He revelled in the fear and chaos they spread among the unsuspecting muggles. He could still hear them in his dreams, cries of agony, cries of torture, cries of fear – they were like music to his ears.

He could also still taste it, the flavour of blood on his tongue.

In his dreams, he relived that moment often. The first time that that green light had left his wand. The first time that he had killed. The first time that he had felt incredibly powerful.

He relished that dream, it was the epitome of what he had become, what he had been destined to become.

He chose to forget about the sweat that would break out on his body whenever he had that dream. Or the bile that would rise up in his throat. Or the fact that he was becoming more and more gaunt-looking, as his stomach refused to keep down any of his meals.

***************WEAKNESS***************

It was not before long that he started to look down on his parents. Yes, they supported the Dark Lord's ideas, but they were too hesitant to take action. Too afraid.

Weak, that's what they were, disgustingly weak. There was no drive in them to fight along with his Lord.

He started asking himself why he had ever longed for their approval. After all, he was so much better than them.

***************COMPANION***************

Regulus had always been rather solitary. He wasn't one to make many friends at school, he didn't need them. And he didn't bother to stay in contact with any of them after he graduated from Hogwarts.

He had his brothers now, after all, his fellow Death Eaters. Sure, they never talked about personal things, but they drank together, and they ate together, and they joked together.

And they killed together and they tortured together.

At home, he found himself talking to his house-elf more and more often. Kreacher supported him. Kreacher listened when his parents wouldn't. Kreacher reaffirmed his beliefs.

And Kreacher cleaned up after him, so that he was never forced to be reminded of his dreams the next morning.

***************PRIDE***************

Regulus had never felt more proud in his life. The Dark Lord had asked him to volunteer his house-elf for a special mission.

He felt his chest swell up in pride, as he was quick to thank the Dark Lord for the honour he was bestowing on him by putting his trust in his servant.

Kreacher was called for, and moments later, both the Dark Lord and his loyal house-elf had disappeared.

There was no one there to clean up after him that night.

**************UNEASINESS***************

In the end, things started to tumble down quickly. If someone would have asked him, he couldn't have told them what had happened first.

The Dark Lord returned a few days later without his house-elf. And as he boasted that he had found a new way to secure his immortality, a feeling of uneasiness settled in Regulus' stomach that refused to leave.

It was only two days later that he took part in another raid. As usual, the raid was followed by a lot of heavy drinking. It was then that he first came across the Dark Lord's real name.

"His name is Tom", old Rosier told him, his voice slurring. "The Dark Lord's that is. I went to school with him, you know."

Rosier took another large gulp from the cup in his hand. "Tom Riddle", he mused, drawing out the words. "Strange name, isn't it? Never heard of a Riddle before."

Regulus didn't catch what Rosier mumbled next, but the man was talking more to himself than to anyone else.

Riddle. He'd never heard of that name before either. He knew it was none of his business, and that he should better keep his nose out of his master's business. But his curiosity was peaked, and it couldn't hurt to have a look at the school's student files.

Rosier seemed to have a sudden moment of clarity as he made to grab Regulus.

"I shouldn't have told you that", he mumbled. "He'd be furious, so furious."

Regulus anticipated the other's move before he had the chance to complete it, and knocked the wand right out of his hand. A quick look around the room showed him that everyone else was already passed out or too inebriated to notice anything.

A quick 'stupefy' left his lips, followed by a quiet 'obliviate'.

***************DISILLUSIONMENT***************

It was too easy really. Nobody seemed to know about the secret passageways that led into the school or at least nobody seemed to care enough to do anything about them. Breaking into Hogwarts was more of a child's play, Regulus thought derogatorily.

Further, Dumbledore had always been a little too predictable, and it took him less than five minutes to guess the right sweet that currently served as the headmaster's password.

He quickly found the file labelled 'Tom Riddle' and immersed himself in reading about his idol's school days.

Perfect scores. Appraising reports from his teachers. It was not until he scanned the sheet with the basic information that Regulus felt his heart drop as he read and reread the information on the Dark Lord's parentage.

A half-blood. A dirty half-blood. Regulus was too shocked to process what he had just read. He felt betrayed. Dirty. How could he follow a man who, by his own claims, had no right to live?

It had been the Dark Lord that had first talked about the supremacy of their blood, no, not their blood, his blood, and that of the other purebloods.

Apparently, the Dark Lord did not adhere to his own rules. But did it render those beliefs false? Regulus did not know. He felt lost, betrayed. There was no one there to talk to, no one to turn to.

That night, he missed Kreacher more than ever and he feared what the Dark Lord may have done to him. He lay awake for a long time that night, dreams plaguing him whenever he as much as closed his eyes, dreams of blood and death, dreams of murder and betrayal.

For the first time he admitted to himself that they were no dreams but nightmares that sought him out.

That night, Regulus felt small in his king-sized bed, and as young as he really was, as his dreams and beliefs started to shatter around him.

He was all alone in this world. His world view destroyed. His beliefs shattered.

His convictions had failed him.

***************BETRAYED***************

It was three nights later, when he found Kreacher lying in his room. Cold fury filled him as he saw his loyal servant lying there helplessly, obviously hurt and close to death.

How dare Riddle? Kreacher was so much more than him, a low half-blood.

For the first time in years, Regulus allowed a tear to slip down his face as he stayed by his house-elf's side the whole night, fearing for his life.

Thankfully, Kreacher got better. They talked for a long time, Kreacher and him, and after some time, Regulus started to piece together the puzzle that was Riddle's web of lies.

***************A PLAN***************

Regulus knew that his knowledge was dangerous. There was no one he would endanger by telling them of what he knew, and frankly, no one he trusted enough to do so.

It was not much of a plan, really, but it gave Regulus a new drive. Where he had felt so lost before, so disillusioned after his discoveries, he was now filled by a cold sense of determination.

Regulus was certain that he was meant to die. He knew his life was doomed, it wouldn't take the Dark Lord long to find out that Kreacher had returned and it was no question that he would make sure to dispose of Regulus soon after. He would be seen as a liability by the Dark Lord, not an asset, though he had started to doubt whether he had ever been considered as the latter by the Dark Lord.

Yes, he was going to die and there was nothing he could do about it. But he was going to make sure that the Dark Lord would follow him into the cold earth not too long after.

***************AN EXECUTION***************

Kreacher's eyes were the last thing he saw before his head disappeared below the water, the Inferi drawing him down with them.

Blackness engulfed him, and as Kreacher left with the locket, Regulus left the world with his shattered convictions and dreams, but it didn't matter, nothing mattered anymore.

For the first time since he could remember Regulus felt at ease, as his thoughts seemed to slip away. Who cared whether the Dark Lord's beliefs had been right or wrong.

He cared.

With a sudden determination Regulus clung to his thoughts.

'Those thoughts are insignificant, they don't matter anymore', a voice whispered to him, but he was reluctant to let go of them.

'They do', he thought. 'They do'.

All of a sudden, he could see pictures of a future, a future he would not live to be part of. He could see faces branded by battle scars, but there were smiles on them.

Things would turn out alright after all, not today, not tomorrow, but eventually.

He had done the right thing, Regulus was certain of this now. There was no more room for doubts, no more room for regrets.

Yes, he had done a lot of awful things in his life, had made a lot of wrong decisions, he could see that now. But at least, he had ended his life on his own terms, had made certain that one day, someone would be able to rid the world of Riddle.

Did one noble decision make up for numerous wrong ones? He didn't think so.

But Regulus realised one thing – it was not a calculation as simple as that.

Somewhere, a higher instance had decided to forgive him. Maybe he didn't deserve forgiveness, but he was not going to argue the point.

Regulus allowed his thoughts to drift away, allowed himself to forget, as his might slipped into blissful peace.

*****************PEACE*****************

* * *

_**A/N**: It's been a while since I last had the time to write something, so I'm a bit unsure about this one-shot._

_Reviews equal love. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Bashers will be laughed at. =)_


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